Citrus Taste Thundercats Works
by Dr. Abraxas
Summary: based on the prompts given by the LJ comm 'Citrus Taste'; these stories are specific to the Thundercats fandom.
1. Water: Tygra, I Pwn You Forever!

just when you thought I was finished with the Thundercats fandom.... well it is my first Thundercats story in like 5+ years - it doesn't mean I'm coming back. I joined a smut-centered community on LJ and this is simply one of fifty prompts I need to write. there will be several other Thundercats entries, though, so watch out :D

summary: Tygra discusses his latest, perverted addiction - Honey Dust. What could it be? Why is he sneaking into another Thundercat's bedroom? Why is he sniffing and licking his fingers? oh, oh - this can't be good!!

a/n: I wasn't sure what was meant by Honey Dust but I figured I was free to interpret the prompt as I saw fit. It just so happens to sound like a drug and, well, Tygra is notorious for getting addicted to stuff. (sily fruit, the keystone, Bengali's penis, the Siren's call, OK maybe the Siren's call is a stretch). I found a way to make it really, really smutty and vile. This is fetish guys. Be warned.

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**"Water: Tygra, I Pwn You Forever!" by Abraxas (2009-08-20)**

_citrus_taste, kink, #22, "Honey Dust"_

I wait until the dead of night to make my move. As I crawl out of the bedroom into the passage, my palms sweat, my breath races. Despite this, that veil of silence that separates the sleeping and the awake, night is a weak disguise. My hobby - it is as dangerous as if I attempted it under the light of day.

How could it be explained if discovered? It is beyond words! It is impossible to understand by the sane....

By the gods, just, let the lair be asleep again. If Liono and the kittens are up and about it is too dangerous to continue. Or, worse, if Snarf prowls the hallway - the racket that imp makes, pestering and irritating me with questions, it would be enough to awaken everybody. Then it would be finished.

There are only so many excuses - and ways to divert attention - until a pattern emerges even within the mind of a Mutant.

The others would have guessed I was beset by yet another addiction. They could not have known what, exactly, I craved. Unless they probed deeper and deeper.... No mountain of lies is enough to mask it.

It would be the end of me, Tygra, if the truth were merely suspected. Because there is no way to come back from this precipice. The Silky Fruit was not my fault. The Keystone simply exposed a weakness. This - this - this is me! All me! I cannot be forgiven. Just the thought of what I do in the middle of the night would be enough to alienate me forever.

My Honey Dust! Its white, salty ash dusting my fingers. It impels my devolution into this animal frenzied by the satisfaction of the fetish. I want my pollen fresh and clean direct out of its source and for its taste I face the ultimate physical danger every single night I attempt to collect its nectar. Not only the danger of getting caught but the immediate and violent reaction against my methods.

I know he would not appreciate it....

Where it started, my lust, I recall as if yesterday.

It was a long night of work alone within my study. Various sketches and models detailing a new Thundercat outpost were scattered about my workbench. I had been working the better part of a month and only showed a pile of scrap as progress.

I could not stand it so I fled into the depths of the lair to renew my mind.

Whenever struck by architect's block I find solace communing with machines. Their harmonic, cycling ways always soothed my spirits. My favorite spot was the laundry and it happened that Snarf was in the midst of a wash already. There, surrounded by the humming of motors, I curled by a machine and dozed.

Without my notice Snarf reloaded the machine. The rest of the night would have passed without a stir except that suddenly I was shocked awake by a pungent, feral punch. I looked - a piece of underwear was atop my lap. The odor was coming out of it.

At first I was repulsed by being that close to it. But as it was the aroma turned my revulsion into a kind of curiosity. And it awoke something inside of me that I thought age would have withered away. It was like those surges of excitement that come, spontaneously, at puberty....

I grasped the article and while Snarf was distracted I sniffed it and it was then and there that the obsession started.

I was ablaze by a furry of inspiration! With the scent fresh across my fingers - sniffed and licked raw - I finished the plans. I admired its sleek, long suggestive lines. Its rigid (and sturdy) body. How I stroked the length of that model I erected. Yes - the Tower of Omens is my monument to my Honey Dust!

I press my ear against the door and listen. The tell-tale snore echoes out of the abyss. I wrap my whip about my body - invisible - I crack ope the entry and sneak into the chamber.

He sleeps with arms tucked under pillow. Legs spread. As if to invite me to my quarry.

I often wonder if he knows and assumes that posture to lure my fly to his web - alas - that cannot be but the vagaries of my madness.

I wait. Salivating at the thought of the joy yet to come. Hovering above the bed, above his crotch. I reach the waist of his loincloth and yank it to expose a tuft of rough, blue fuzz. Slowly, gently, I bring his penis into view. Erect, it is as long my hand from the tips of fingers to the wrist. Impressive yet it is not the dimensions of the beast that lures me night after night....

I retract his foreskin while I stifle a moan at the sight and feel of the violation.

I swat the air about his tip - already, like kittens to catnip, I am dizzy with my Honey Dust!

I bring my face toward it until my nose touches its tip. I inhale as if imbibing out of a bong burning the essence of a weed. This is my drug of choice! It is what awakens the tiger within me. The forbidden nature of it. The unspeakable description of it. The danger of getting caught. All of that at once compacted into the shape of a penis held like the bud of a flower in my hand. This is my reason to live!

My Honey Dust - I want you fresh! Flaky. Crusty. Raw like the pollen that sticks to bees. I want to rub you against my fingers and snort you into my brain.

Who would have thought in Panthro's manly essence I would have found the key to paradise?

**END**


	2. Earth: Pop My Balloon, Cheetara!

summary: Cheetara seduces a young and inexperienced Bengali with a very unusual sex-game involving balloons.

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**"Earth: Pop My Balloon, Cheetara!" by Abraxas (2009-08-21)**

_citrus_taste, kink, #16, "toys"_

The balloon, filled with air, deflated through Cheetara's fingers and ruffled about the white and black mane of Bengali.

Exhausted, soft and limp, it crumbled into a wad of rubber within the woman's grasp.

The youth sighed, eyes rolling with ecstasy, and stood to straddle the cheetah between his legs.

How it started - who knew, who cared. It was simply a kink she learned as a teenager among those boys of Thundera. She imported the treat into Third Earth where it languished unsatisfied, frustrated by a lack of cooperation among the men. Liono could not find any pleasure with it. Tygra thought it was odd and treated it like a condition to be analyzed. Panthro just did not get it....

It was not until Bengali appeared that Cheetara found another youth appreciative of that ritual.

It was akin to a toy used to gratify. It was very unusual, though, the toy and the feelings of pleasure it generated. It required a bit of practice. But the cheetah always knew sex and its expression was a function of the mind and not the body and, if willing and able, a partner could be trained....

When Cheetara smelt Bengali's urges she acted quickly to mold the tiger - if the other Thundercat males got a hold of the youth his exposure to their proclivities would have closed his mind to her kind of play.

The truth was the tiger was not exactly a virgin yet the inexperience could not be denied.

The toy was part of the fun right at the start of their seduction.

It was night when Cheetara and Bengali sat watch at the top of the tower. While they chatted she noticed a pile of balloons - the remains of Snarfer's birthday party. She grasped a robust, pink balloon and bounced it about. He noticed and tried to take a balloon but they slipped through his grip.

The conversation lulled and she brought up the subject of the Amazonians and the time he seemed to be spending among those warrior women. Sitting, again, suddenly he blushed and fidgeted. Giggling, as if playing along with the discomfort, she let her balloon fall onto his lap. She pressed it against his crotch. He, reflexively, spread wide his legs.

Within the space opened between his thighs that balloon fit snug.

"And what did I stir up?" she asked through whisper.

Cheetara pinched the balloon's knotted tip. Then, slowly, while Bengali's eyes followed transfixed, she slid her fingers up and down its squeaky rubber skin. The long, fat balloon quivered with each and every stroke. Until she played with its tip, again, and it burst into wads of latex.

That move proved to be the key that unlocked a passion only their child-like play sated. He craved the toy and the way she used it. It was stand-in, accentuator, magnifier. The game was the center of the act they shared where it was the intermediate between bodies - it made the act of touching, flesh to flesh, all nasty and exciting as if forbidden.

Bengali dropped his loincloth and uncovered the region where his genitals ought to be. Cheetara gazed - the youth was not yet aroused so the flesh was nestled within tufts of white and black fur. Invisible. Except to a woman's judging eyes....

Overwhelmed by urges fomenting between her legs, she grasped his hips and shoved his crotch into her face. Against her cheek she felt his warm, firm tip. His length started to unfurl and sputter. She drew away, still squeezing and holding onto his cheeks, and watched as his rough, pink organ poked through the fuzz.

Cheetara blew into a balloon while Bengali stroked her mane. When full of air she only pinched its tip. Then she rubbed it along the fur between the tiger's thighs. She felt, vicariously though the rubber, the youth transform from soft to hard - it weighed against the toy and stunted its motion.

She brought the balloon onto his sac so that the penis lay against the latex.

"Grow big for mommy, baby," she cooed, kissing its shaft. She loosened her pinch of the balloon and let air escape to brush against his tip. "Like that, yeah, bigger, bigger, you can do it, baby."

"I'm almost there," he replied, biting his lip, tearing out of the corner of his eye. "Oh, gods, I'm swelling up - Cheetara - I'm swelling long and fat...for you....."

Again Cheetara turned the balloon onto Bengali's penis. Stroking its length. Patting its tip. It stood horizontal - and she lathered the glans with the rubber until the whole of the head what enveloped by the toy. It popped and the youth replied with a shudder. The woman replied with a chuckle. She kissed where the flesh was reddened by the burst and the tiger repeated that head to toe jerk.

Another balloon. Another round of attention given to the pink glossy tip swollen with dew. It was leaking a stream of excitement when the toy met its end - and it was the cheetah who shuddered at the climax.

And a third - and a fourth - balloon followed. The tiger gasped while she moaned and groaned and squiggled, drawing tightly her thighs against her sweaty, hot lips. She roared as the toys yipped their pop.

By the tenth balloon his knees were weak and buckling. His toes were curling, their claws were digging a steady rent into the floor. His body was tensing, its skin was rubbing rhythmically against the woman.

When that balloon met Bengali's tip, like a pair of lips falling into a kiss, it exploded and a wad of white splattered against Cheetara's face.

The cheetah held the tiger's thighs and watched rapt while a puddle formed between her own two legs....

The rest of the youth's orgasm followed like jerking, bucking fountain with the flow falling onto the scraps of rubber.

**END**


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